


Chicken Shit

by LadyVegeets



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Drunkenness, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7871062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVegeets/pseuds/LadyVegeets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vegeta gets drunk for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Shit

Written in response to **shellhearts21** ’s prompt on twitter, “the first time Vegeta gets drunk”, when I was tipsy and wanted a writing challenge, haha. Yay for drunk writing!

 

 **Chicken Shit** ~ _by LadyVegeets_

 

“What do you mean, I’m chicken shit?” he snarked.

Bulma smirked over the tiny rim of the shot glass. “Oh, you know _exactly_ what I mean. You’re too wound up and too terrified of what would happen if you actually cut lose and let yourself get drunk.”

Vegeta was fuming. “Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t get drunk because if I did I might not  have the wherewithal to stop myself from ACTUALLY BLOWING THIS HELL HOLE OF A PLANET UP?!”

Bulma snorted and sipped her shot. “Please.”

He looked offended. “You don’t think I would?”

Bulma didn’t, and it clearly showed on her face.

His fingers tightened. “What makes you so fucking sure?”

“ _I’m_ here.”

He scoffed, sneering at her, his lip curling over his canine, feral with disgust. “Well if you’re so fucking sure, let’s go ahead and test your little theory.”

She smiled and slung a shot glass across the counter his way. He caught it, and stared down at the clear liquid contemptuously, steeling himself for what was to come.

Bulma made a chicken noise.

Vegeta scowled and downed the shot in one burning swallow. He looked at her with loathing, and held up the empty the glass. “Another, woman. I don’t have all night.”

* * *

XxX

 

“Fuck,” he swore, as the vodka splashed over the sides of the delicate little glass he was having trouble balancing. 

“Here, it doesn’t count if you waste most of it,” Bulma chided, leaning over him to refill his drink, using his strong body for balance. Only his strong body seemed to be having trouble enough of its own staying balanced.

“Fuck, woman, do you _mind_?” he said, scrabbling to grab onto the counter to keep them both from falling over.

Bulma giggled. “What’s wrong? Losing control?”

“THISISN’T FUNNY, GETOFF ME!” he shouted, the words slurring together. Vegeta pushed them both upright and snatched the bottle from her hands; it was the third bottle of hard alcohol they’d cracked open to get him into this state. Saiyans could apparently pack away as much liquor as they could food. He tipped the bottle up into his glass, spilling a bunch all over the counter, and then threw the drink back with a vehement sneer. “Disgusting,” he said, for perhaps the 300th time.

Bulma rested her cheek in her palm, watching him with eyes filled with amusement and the soft haze of vodka. “Are you feeling it yet?” she asked.

“The fuck’d I know? I can’t even feel my fucking face,” he grouched sourly, refilling his glass.

Bulma snorted. “That’s a yes then, genius.”

“WHY ARE THESE THINGS SO FUCKING SMALL?!” he shouted to no one as he spilt yet again more liquor over the counter.

“Here, let me,” she offered.

“I’M PERFECTLY CAPABLE!” he declared imperiously, but she took the bottle from his hands and he didn’t fight her. 

“God, even drunk you’re obnoxious,” she complained as she poured them both a new shot.

“I am not,” he sulked.

“Please, you’re the worst,” she insisted. “I thought getting you drunk might loosen you up, but apparently it just makes you even more intolerable.”

She threw back her drink, and hissed as the liquor burnt on the way down. She put her empty glass on the counter. It was then she noticed he’d gone quiet. Bulma glanced at him. He was staring down at his shot, not having drunk it yet. He was frowning, saying nothing.

“Vegeta?” she asked, touching his arm.

“Don’t touch me if I’m so intolerable,” he snapped, yanking his arm out of her grasp. 

Bulma’s eyes went wide, and she reeled back. Had she actually hurt his feelings? “Vegeta, it was just a joke…”

“No. It wasn’t,” he said flatly. Miserably. 

She sighed. Great, he was an angry AND sad drunk. Delightful. “Vegeta, you are NOT intolerable. I tolerate you quite a lot actually.”

“Oh please, don’t strain yourself,” he snarked, still staring spitefully down at his un-drunk shot. 

She rolled her eyes. “Vegeta, I love you, but you’re being a little bitch right now.”

“Fuck off,” he said, and finally raised the shot and drank it. He crushed the glass in his hand then buried his face in his arms, slumped over the counter like a petulant child.

“… Vegeta,” she prodded, shaking his shoulder.

He grunted and ignored her. 

Bulma huffed. “Vegeta, I’m too drunk to deal with your bullshit right now.”

“You’re always too busy for me,” he mumbled bitterly.

She raised a brow. “Oh my god, you’ve got to be kidding me. _I’m_ too busy for you? _You’re_ too busy for everything except training!”

He didn’t have a reply to that. 

“Vegeta,” she tried again, this time running her fingers through his hair. He had such lovely thick hair, as willful and stuck up as the man himself.

He made another sound that tried to be a grunt but came out sounding more like a moan. She smirked, knowing he liked to have the base of his skull rubbed, his neck always filled with tension. She eased the knots there, and felt him melt under her hand.

“Better?” she asked.

“Hn,” he replied.

When she finally finished, he sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“Probably the alcohol,” she said, feeling the effects herself.

“I’m going to bed,” he announced. He stood up, took a leaning step, teetered, and fell. “… Ow,” he groaned miserably on the floor.

She burst into laughter. “Oh my god!”

“Stop your cackling,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t even muster much vehemence. He staggered back to his feet, using the stool to help lever himself up. He loomed over her with a frown, watching her laugh.

Then he grinned.

Bulma felt her stomach clutch, her breath stolen. 

He raised a finger and pushed her, ever so gently, between the breasts. Bulma yelped as she toppled over backwards.

She never hit the ground. Eyes scrunched shut, she waited for an impact that didn’t come. She peeked, and saw him holding her, smirking down at her.

“YOU JERK!” she huffed, slapping his arms. 

“Say it,” he goaded.

“Say WHAT?!” she snapped back, her heart still beating wildly from her near-fall.

“Say I’m not chicken shit.”

She puffed up her cheeks. “Vegeta, you are not chicken shit, but you ARE the most INTOLERABLE ASSHOLE I’VE EVER HAD THE DISPLEASURE TO BE IN LOVE WITH.”

He scowled and dropped her. Bulma shrieked, her butt thudding the last few inches to the ground. “‘Night,” he bade her, leaving her there.

“THIS ONLY PROVES MY POINT!” she called after him sourly from the floor.

He ignored her, still stumbling off. Bulma let him go, furious. She got up and poured herself another shot, throwing it back before deciding she should switch to water.

When she made her way to their room, she found him curled up against the bedroom door. She snorted, and nudged him with her toes. “Hey, dumbass. Beaten by a door?”

He startled awake, and blinked up at her sleepily. He looked around, disorientated, and scowled. “Who needs to be beaten?”

“A hangover, probably,” she replied ruefully. “C’mon, tough guy.” She held out her hand to help him to his feet. He took it, but then he pulled her down to him.

She fell against him with a yelp. “Vegeta!”

“What,” he said, pulling her in close against him.

Bulma blushed as he started to cuddle her. “We need to go to bed.”

“Less talking, more sleeping,” he told her sleepily.

“Vegeta, we-”

She was stopped by his mouth on hers. His kiss was slow but far from chaste. She resisted for only a heartbeat, before melting against him, his fingers sliding into her hair, keeping her face to his. His mouth tasted of alcohol. He kissed at her for long minutes, his hot tongue devouring her.

By the time he pulled back, she was a quivering mess. 

“Wanted to do that all night,” he confessed against her lips.

“Fuck, you should have,” she panted. “It would have been better than listening to you whining all night.”

He scowled at her. “Don’t make me punish you for your insolence.”

Bulma smirked, scoffing. “Please.”

“You don’t think I would?” he asked her, his eyes lighting up with the challenge.

Bulma’s grin widened. She made chicken sounds.

Vegeta scooped her up, throwing her gracelessly over his shoulder. He smashed the door in, and took her into the bedroom, her squeals of delight trailing out after them, down the corridor…

 

 

* * *

~OxO~

* * *

 

 **AN** : I meant this to only be a drabble response, but apparently I’m shit at writing drabbles because this got long real quick. Follow me on **twitter** or **tumblr** if you like.

 


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